


when skies are grey

by escherzo



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (sort of), Attempts to Channel Expansion-Related Angst Into Productive Content, Columbus Blue Jackets, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Expansion Draft, Vegas Golden Knights, a brief cameo by new golden knight nate schmidt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo
Summary: “We should—“ Bill starts, and can’t get the words out. “I.”Alex turns to look at him, and his face softens immediately. “Wild Lars Billiam,” he says, which is the title he gives Bill only at his most fond or silly moments, “stop it.”





	when skies are grey

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not crying you're crying okay we're all crying
> 
> (given what has been said about vegas drafting a bunch of defensemen and then trading them the Nate cameo may be jossed in a grand total of like, six hours when the trade freeze lifts but I am hoping not as Bill needs a good and smiley friend in his new home)

“Hey,” Alex says, as Bill gets off the phone. “We still have the summer.”

Bill didn’t say what the call was. He didn’t need to; his face says enough. He’s never been good at hiding—enough card games lost prove that. 

If there was ever a time for a better poker face, now would be that time. 

*

So he’s going to Vegas. 

So he and Alex are… well. It’s been a good run. They’ve never had the ‘what are we?’ conversation, because it’s always been easy, simple, a place in the nebulous space between dating and friends with benefits that suited them both just fine, but that’s not going to work anymore. 

They still have to train together today. They’re still both barely awake, and Alex is naked in the bed beside him with the morning sun lighting his hair up gold, and he’s going to have to break things off before everything gets worse than it already is, and no part of him wants to be brave enough to do it. 

“Hey,” Alex says, leaning in for a kiss. “I’ll go make coffee. Stop thinking so hard.” He gets up and Bill watches him go—can’t not, really, can’t stop himself from appreciating Alex’s body while he still has the chance. Alex shoots him a look over his shoulder, equal parts worried and fond, and he smiles back, but it’s strained, and it probably shows.

Fuck. He’s going to have to figure out how to get all of his shit to Vegas now, once he actually gets back to the States and takes stock of what’s worth keeping and what isn’t. He’s going to have to find a new place. Meet new people. Figure out how to get around a town full of lights and noise and tourists and try not to be the one who gets the mocking nickname for being too shy. Again. Fuck. 

“I can hear the steam coming out of your ears,” Alex calls from the hallway. “Come here, I’ll make eggs.”

“I’m fine,” Bill says, and they both know it’s a lie, but he comes anyway. Alex isn’t much for cooking, but he has one frying pan in this place they rent for the summers and he’s pretty good at frying eggs. If it wasn’t seven in the morning, he’d rather have beer than coffee, but that’s going to have to wait until after training. 

Bill settles in to watch as Alex fries eggs, gets coffee started, slices them both off chunks of the whole wheat toast they bought at the market down the street the day before, and his heart aches so much he can’t help but curl in on himself. They can’t stay like this. It wouldn’t be fair to Alex to make him do that. It already doesn’t seem fair that he’s only Bill’s, with what he looks like—and an unwanted center going to a team that won’t win, who’s never been able to stick in a place for long? He deserves better.

“We should—“ Bill starts, and can’t get the words out. “I.”

Alex turns to look at him, and his face softens immediately. “Wild Lars Billiam,” he says, which is the title he gives Bill only at his most fond or silly moments, “stop it.”

“I shouldn’t—“

“I will call up Torts and tell him you’re not listening to directions. I said stop it.”

“He’s—not my coach anymore,” Bill says, staring at his feet, and Alex stops short.

“He’d still be happy to lecture you,” he says, after a long pause, and he tugs Bill up out of his chair and into a hug. “I raised you and taught you how to be fun—“

“ _Hey._ ”

“Shh. I raised you and taught you how to be fun and now you get to go spread your wings, my little baby bird. Go become their top center, so we can compete.” 

“You’ll have to fend off Dubois.”

“Don’t start. You’ll have to fend off that marshmallow guy. But you can do it. I know you can.”

Bill presses his face into Alex’s shoulder so Alex can’t see him tear up, but he gets squeezed tighter, so maybe Alex knows anyway. He’s so warm and soft and smells so good. God, Bill’s going to miss this. 

“I’m going to have to ask Saader about tips for having a long-distance boyfriend,” Alex says into his hair, and Bill freezes. They’ve never—it’s never been laid out for him like that. What they have is fun, but it’s not formal. They don’t say these words to each other. It’s not that he’s never hoped, but.

“Are we?” he asks, words muffled. “Do you still want to?”

Alex pulls back and takes a long look at him, one hand coming up so he can turn Bill’s face towards him. “Of course I do. Unless you don’t want to? Plenty of people manage. We can too.”

“I do,” Bill reassures him, and Alex grins and yanks him into a kiss, slow and deep and stealing Bill’s breath away entirely, and it’s only the weird smell that makes him break it off. 

“Fuck, Alex, the eggs!”

“… shit.”

*

They have toast and coffee for breakfast and the charred remnants of fried egg go in the trash. Alex pours their cups while Bill opens all the windows to let the smoke out, and if not for the smell, it’d be just about perfect, by Bill’s estimation.

“Hey, do you think McPhee would be mad if we eloped while we move you in to your new place? It _is_ Vegas.”

Bill chokes on his toast.

*

They don’t elope. 

Well, yet, anyway. It’s a discussion they table until at least the first Knights/Jackets game of the season. At that point, all bets are off. Bill is holding out for a real proposal—in person, thank you, no matter how good the Skype sex has been—though that’s mostly to avoid being made fun of endlessly by his new teammates, who are all little shits.

“Hey, there’s something in the locker room you should go check out,” Nate Schmidt tells him, his first day, huge smile a bit bigger than usual, and it isn’t until Bill opens the door, attempts to walk in, and walks face first into a doorway that has been booby-trapped with a huge amount of plastic wrap that he realizes why.

“Wasn’t me! Flower!” Nate says, as Bill rights himself and turns to run after him. 

Bill chases him anyway, but he can’t help the smile forming on his face as he does it.

Maybe this will be alright after all.


End file.
